


Lacrimosa

by entwashian



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entwashian/pseuds/entwashian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma is experiencing a mysterious symptom that she cannot diagnose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lacrimosa

Jemma idly rubs at the tickling sensation on her cheek.

She only realizes that she’s crying when she glances up and happens to catch the expression of concern on Fitz’s face.

“It’s nothing,” she says, smiling at him. He raises his eyebrows. “Truly,” Jemma insists.

Fitz lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender and slowly backs out through the lab doors. (It’s possible he’s remembering the time back in their Academy days when he found her crying and subsequently asked if she was menstruating. Not a good day, but an amusing story, in retrospect.)

Jemma brings her hand to her face once more, and again her fingertips come away wet. “Nothing,” she repeats, curiosity piqued.

The thing about being the medic on board the bus is that there is a basic level of difficulty in examining oneself. And when she calls May up from the cockpit to ask for her assistance with administering a few of the trickier tests, Jemma ends up with more company than just May.

Fitz’s eyebrows increase in level of intensity when he sees that tears are still pouring down her cheeks, and judging by the stern looks on the faces of Skye, Coulson, and Triplett, they won’t be as easily sent away as Fitz had been the first time.

May is the only one who appears to be calmly waiting for an explanation. There was a reason (beyond basic medical skills) that Jemma had applied for her help.

“Okay, I’ll just jump right in, shall I?” Jemma addresses the assemblage of her colleagues. She shoves her hands into her pockets in an attempt to avoid wringing them together, but she just ends up wringing the pockets of her lab coat instead. “I’ve been cross-testing myself against all known causes of spontaneous lachrymation, but I’ve yet to come up with a match.”

Coulson’s jaw works itself back and forth. Jemma tries not to flinch. “So you’ve made no progress?”

“Oh, no, I’m not saying that at all!” Jemma responds quickly. “The human body is capable of producing three distinct types of tears. When viewed under a microscope, the appearances of their chemical structures differ greatly in pattern.

“Basal tears are the body’s way of moisturizing the eye and protecting it from infection,” Jemma continues. “Irritant tears are a reaction to a physical stimulus, such as pollen or dust, which serve to flush the irritant out of the eye.” Jemma pauses.

“And?” May asks. “The third kind?”

“Mine,” Jemma says, and her voice sounds shaky. She clears her throat and continues, “are the third kind. Emotional tears.”

“Caused by an emotional response to something,” Coulson clarifies to confirm, and Jemma nods assent.

“Okaaaaay, but,” Skye says, “an emotional response to _what_?”

“I don’t know!” Jemma exclaims in frustration. She feels a tear drip emphatically off her chin.

“Take it easy,” Triplett says, holding out a steadying hand. “Think about what you’ve been working on in the lab over the past few days. Is there anything that could have caused this?”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Why do you people always assume everything bad is caused by a lab accident? We’ve had plenty of good and useful things made for you, but is there ever a thank you? No! It’s always ‘chemical spill’ this and ‘accidental explosion’ that.”

Skye pulls a face at him, the corners of her mouth tilting down in mock doubt. “Statistically speaking, actually…”

“Oh, shut up,” Fitz cuts her off, and they grin at each other. 

“Besides, I wasn’t _in_ my lab these past few days,” Jemma says.

Coulson looks at her sharply. “That’s right. You were working with Fitz on the bloodstone circle we took from the cult.”

“My money’s definitely still on freaky lab accident, then,” Triplett mutters. Fitz squawks indignantly, but Coulson shoots a quelling look at him.

“Did you find anything special about the bloodstone that may have caused the mass hysteria experienced by the members of the cult?” Coulson asks.

“There was no link, as far as we could determine,” Fitz says.

“Though in this case, ‘bloodstone’ appears to be a rather literal use of the term,” Jemma adds. “Not only does the rock circle have the physical properties of heliotrope – colloquially known as bloodstone – but it also had traces of human blood cells on it.”

“It _does_ follow, though,” May says. “One incidence of mass hysteria while the cult leaders did who-knows-what with the stone, and then two days after she touches it--” she gestures at Jemma.

“This is **not** hysteria!” Jemma protests, and everyone looks at her. Okay, that may have come out a little shriek-y. “This is probably not hysteria,” Jemma amends, wiping her face again.

The lights flicker.

The phone rings.

Jemma, eager to escape the conversation, beats out the others to the receiver. “Yes, hello?” she says. There is a burst of static over the line.

“Jemma Simmons,” a voice says ominously.

“This… this is she,” Jemma says.

“Hi!” the voice brightens. “This is Erika! We met at that seminar on intelligent design and the Fibonacci sequence.”

“Yes,” Jemma says, pressing her fingertips to her forehead to try to clear her mind. “I remember.” She does, barely. Erika had been very tall, and… glowing? No, that couldn’t be right. It’s just that Jemma hadn’t expected there to be an open bar at a science conference, let alone one that boasted tequila shots.

“This is kind of awkward,” Erika says. “But I know all about the secret government organization that you work for, and I would super appreciate it if you guys could return the bloodstone circle you confiscated last week.”

Jemma barely hears the request. She’s lost in thought, trying to remember the weekend of the conference. She’d been sobbing then, too, but she’d thought it was the result of overindulging at the bar. She remembers talking to Erika about, what was it, oh, right –

“Chambered nautilus,” Jemma automatically says into the phone.

“Yes, that’s right!” Erika says. “We found your explanation of how the golden ratio applies to the shell of the nautilus even though it doesn’t exactly follow the golden spiral to be very practical.” Erika’s voice drips with meaning, but Jemma doesn’t follow. Even though she can hear Erika clearly now, the static from the beginning of the call is still present, and it fills up Jemma’s mind.

“I’m sorry, I can’t recall,” Jemma says helplessly.

“That’s all right, sweetie, you weren’t meant to,” Erika says gently. “But listen, about that bloodstone circle…”

“What? Oh, yes. You want us to return it.” Jemma makes eye contact with Coulson across the room, and he frowns. She shakes her head at him.

“I’m experiencing certain side effects that we believe to be related to the artifact,” Jemma says, snapping back to business. “We believe that releasing it would cause a public safety issue.”

“Return the bloodstone circle to where it belongs,” Erika demands, losing patience. “If you do, your symptoms will disappear.”

“So the bloodstone circle _is_ causing my constant lachrymation?” Jemma asks.

Erika sighs heavily. “Just give it back, okay? You’ll stop crying, I promise.”

“If I’m to take you at your word, I’ll need a way of contacting you in case something goes wrong,” Jemma says.

Erika hangs up.

Jemma huffs in frustration, then turns to Coulson. “We need to go back to Night Vale.”


End file.
